


sway to the rhythm

by johnnlaurenss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Weddings, idk its pure fluff tho just trust me Tooth Rotting Fluff Inside, of sorts??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13367277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnlaurenss/pseuds/johnnlaurenss
Summary: Today’s gonna be a good day, Enjolras thinks to himself. Like if he thinks it hard enough, it will be willed into existence.It’s just a wedding.*In which Enjolras usually enjoys weddings, but this one in particular may be his favorite.





	sway to the rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this except for that I really wanted to write from Enjolras's perspective and make him flustered as hell. Inspired VERY LOOSELY by a scene from the movie Table 19. very loosely.

_Today’s gonna be a good day_ , Enjolras thinks to himself. Like if he thinks it hard enough, it will be willed into existence. _It’s just a wedding_.

 

It’s not like Enjolras hates weddings, it’s just that he hates weddings where he feels like he doesn’t belong. Enjolras _loves_ weddings; when Combeferre gets married Enjolras is certain he’ll plan half of it, and he already knows he’ll cry at Feuilly’s, and he doesn’t hate weddings at all. He just... doesn’t know Marius all that well.

 

Courfeyrac had _begged_ him to come. He’d said something about obligation and champagne and cute brothers and comfort zones, and Enjolras had sighed and finally agreed. But now he’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching as all of his friends pair off with their significant others and smile and laugh. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, and that’s what bothers him.

 

Marius had asked him to prepare a toast, just in case. God knows why.

 

“Bride or groom?”

 

Enjolras startles unnecessarily, and when he turns he finds literally the _most attractive person_ in the world standing next to him. He’s all messy curls and dark skin, and his nose is crooked in a way that tells Enjolras it’s been broken once or seven times and instantly Enjolras wants to know every story this man has to tell. He realizes he’s gaping so he shuts his mouth quickly and just blinks, because he’s an idiot.

 

The guy raises an eyebrow.

 

“Right,” Enjolras stammers, and it comes out meaner than he wants it to. “Uh, groom, I guess.”

 

The guy looks at him skeptically, and his mouth twists into an unfairly snarky grin. Enjolras wants to press his lips against the corner of his smirk and _never leave_. “You aren’t a wedding crasher, are you?”

 

Enjolras would blush, if he didn’t have dignity. “No! No. It’s, ah, a long story.”

 

The man nods. “I can tell you’re dying to tell it,” he says dryly. Enjolras wants to correct him, but he’s afraid he’ll say something stupid like _actually I want to tell you everything and while we’re at it tell me all of your everything too thank you_ , so he sticks to not saying anything at all. “Well, when you see a gorgeous man standing all by his lonesome at a wedding, you’ve got to do something, right? I mean, I’m not a _monster_. So I figured I’d come over and we could do that horribly boring wedding conversation that we’ve all rehearsed, then you’d make an excuse and I’d watch sadly after your retreating form. Obviously checking you out while you go, like, I have _eyes_ , but knowing that after this we’d probably never speak again.”

 

Enjolras splutters indignantly, mostly because his brain doesn’t catch on to much past the guy complimenting him like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Part of him wants to reprimand the man for flirting so shamelessly without any prompting or consent, but the more overwhelming part of him wants to sneak off to literally anywhere with him and not come back for _hours_.

 

He’s kind of alarmed at how rapidly his thought process seems to derail, but when he looks back at the man it’s like looking at the sun over and over again and he’s _really hot_ so honestly, Enjolras thinks it’s justified.

 

He realizes too late he’s still gaping at the man.

 

The guy winces. “Sorry,” he states, not looking sorry at all. “Not into dudes?”

 

Enjolras shakes his head probably too eagerly, too fast. “Not used to being flirted with,” he counters. The man laughs out of shock, eyes wide again.

 

“I’m sorry, _what_? You’re like, literally Adonis, what the fuck do you mean you’re not used to flirting.”

 

“I’m not Adonis, oh my god,” he mutters, embarrassed. He’s thankful now more than ever for tanned skin, as it hides his blush probably a lot better. The guy gives him an unimpressed look, so Enjolras goes, “Adonis wasn’t Latino.”

 

The guy snorts. “You’re a nerd, and you’re hot, my god this isn’t fair,” he whines. Enjolras stammers again, making the guy grin. It’s all he can do to keep from beaming like an idiot at the smirk that splits the guy’s face.

 

“Enjolras,” he says instead, extending his hand. He has to act like he has _some_ cool, somehow. The guy winks at him and takes his hand.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, and it sounds actually sincere. “I’m R.”

 

Enjolras makes a face. “That’s not a name.”

 

R snickers. “No, but it’ll keep you on your feet for a while,” he counters. Enjolras is kind of upset at how good this guy is at flirting. He sighs. “Now that we know each other, learned some alarming information regarding flirtation, and become old chums, how about you tell me that long story about you and the groom?”

 

Enjolras remembers faintly that he’s got to be giving some sort of toast, or maybe eating cake or pretending to dance, but he’s rooted to the spot. R let go of his hand after shaking it, but he still lingers close enough that ever so often his hand will brush against the back of Enjolras’s. It’s _intoxicating_.

 

“Okay,” he relents. “Marius and I are friends, in theory. More like acquaintances, and it’s my fault we don’t know each other better.”

 

“Ouch,” R comments, looking amused. Enjolras glares halfheartedly.

 

“I’m _busy_ ,” he whines. R laughs like he doesn’t really believe him.

 

“Why come, if you’re just acquaintances?” R asks. His hand brushes by Enjolras’s once again, lingering and pressing longer than necessary.

 

“Combeferre is my best friend, and he’s dating Courfeyrac now, and Courf and Marius are best friends, and Marius said it’d mean a lot to him if I’d come, and,” Enjolras trails off awkwardly. R looks a bit lost.

 

“I don’t know any of those people,” he says, sounding apologetic. “Aside from the groom, since I _actually_ know him.”

 

They’re back to _flirting_. Enjolras grins in victory. 

 

“Courfeyrac, best man,” Enjolras explains. “He’s maybe 5’6, Latino, short and wavy hair, looks like an elf?”

 

R grins. “He’s the one that begged Marius to let him wear a glitter tie to the rehearsal dinner.”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“And Combeferre?”

 

“Significantly taller, dark, skinny, almost always wears glasses with black frames because he’s a hipster, loathe to admit it,” Enjolras says. He smiles a bit. “Med student, he’s entering residency this year.”

 

R smiles back at him.

 

“He’s my ex,” Enjolras adds unnecessarily, because he’s seriously the world’s biggest idiot.

 

R’s smile falters a bit. “Ohh,” he says, and his voice trails off awkwardly. Then he snickers again and says, “No wonder you’re not used to flirting, if your ex is a hipster med student.”

 

He’s not used to flirting because he and Combeferre have been friends ever since they were five years old. Ferre had spent the more recent years struggling to come to terms with his sexuality, which meant for a brief stint he and Enjolras decided to give a relationship a go. They’d learned two things: Combeferre is demisexual, and he and Enjolras work much better as friends than as anything else. Their relationship had lasted about two months and had ended over a year ago. In the time since then, Combeferre had met, fallen for, and began dating Courfeyrac. Enjolras supposes ‘ex’ is a technically appropriate term for Ferre, even though it’s one they’ve never used to describe their relationship.

 

“Ferre’s a good guy,” he says defensively. R smiles.

 

“So what, he brings his shiny new boyfriend to the wedding and you’re here, mopey and handsome and sad, hoping some poor and unsuspecting fellow will keep you company?” R teases. It’s not accurate, not by a long shot, but Enjolras is practically desperate to keep R by his side.

 

“Not exactly,” he hedges. Plausible deniability, for later, if there is a later, when R inevitably finds out how much of this was a white lie.

 

“Ooh, he’s looking over here!” R whispers conspiringly. “Shall we make him jealous? I’ll show you my moves in the process, you might even forget about him.”

 

Enjolras grasps R’s hand and gives him a wicked smile. “Who’s Combeferre again?” he says innocently, and R positively _beams_ and draws him onto the dance floor.

 

He learns one thing very quickly, and it’s that R is a much better dancer than he. His hand goes to R’s shoulder, if only because R has inches of height on him and obviously knows what he’s doing more. R’s hand is on Enjolras’s waist, though it veers lower as he turns Enjolras into a spin. His face is the picture of innocence when Enjolras gives him an incredulous look.

 

“He’s watching,” R singsongs, and he spins Enjolras out again before pulling him back and catching him, swaying them both to the music. His hand is warm against Enjolras’s. “Does he look jealous? He’s whispering conspiringly to... Courfeyrac, right? You know him better than I, is that his jealous face?”

 

Enjolras knows quite honestly that the reason Combeferre is watching him and whispering to Courfeyrac is because he’s dancing with a hot guy and _smiling_ about it. They’re gossips, the lot of them, and Combeferre is so much worse when it comes to Enjolras’s affairs.

 

R’s arms are so warm. Enjolras is fairly certain he could spend the rest of his life here. Or at least the rest of this day.

 

“I’m not sure,” he fibs, and R laughs and spins him into dancing once again.

 

There’s so many things Enjolras wants to ask R. Now, he thinks, would be a good time, as they sway on the dance floor and lean against one another. But when he looks up, he catches R’s gaze, and his eyes are so impossibly _green_ —

 

R tilts his head down, so as he speaks his breath tickles Enjolras’s ear and sends a shiver down his spine. “Don’t look so serious, darling, it doesn’t sell as well.”

 

Enjolras hits R’s arm and sticks out his tongue.

 

“Don’t boss me around,” Enjolras counters. R has a wicked, wicked glint in his eye. “You haven’t even given me your real name. _Or_ told me who you’re here for.”

 

“Dancing with a stranger, how bold of you,” teases R. His mouth quirks into a sarcastic smile. Enjolras wants to _taste_ it. “My name is Grantaire. I’m Cosette’s brother.”

 

Enjolras furrows his brow. “I didn’t know Cosette had a brother.”

 

R— _Grantaire_ —smirks and shrugs. “Foster,” he supplies, and Enjolras’s expression softens. “We lived with the same foster parents before Valjean adopted her. She convinced him to come back for me a while down the road, but by then another parent had taken me in.”

 

“Oh,” Enjolras says. He frowns. In his hand, Grantaire’s fingers twitch. “I’m sorry.”

 

Grantaire shrugs again. “Don’t be. Javert is the best parent I’ve ever had.”

 

Enjolras can’t help the stifled gasp that forces its way out of his throat. “I’m sorry, do you mean Officer Javert? Head of police force Javert?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Oh my god,” Enjolras giggles. They bubble hysterically out of him, tumbling from his lips, and he _can’t_ stop laughing. “Grantaire. _R_. Your dad arrested me once.”

 

Grantaire doesn’t look surprised. Instead, he starts laughing too. His green, green eyes are bright with amusement. “He arrested me once, too,” he tells Enjolras, like it’s a secret. “Then he _adopted me_.”

 

He’s sure they look absurd, standing near the center of the dance floor giggling and stealing glances like teenagers with a crush, but he can’t find it within himself to care. They’ve stopped dancing, stopped swaying, just to remain standing there wrapped in each other’s arms. Enjolras leans against Grantaire and ducks his head under his chin, laughing breathlessly.

 

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a criminal,” Grantaire says after a while. “Always am attracted to the trouble makers.”

 

“Good thing the trouble makers are attracted to you,” Enjolras teases back. He smiles brightly. “You’re like a damn magnet, you know?”

 

To his delight, Grantaire _blushes_.

 

“Ooh, you talk a big game about flirting for being the kind of guy who blushes after one compliment,” Enjolras laughs. He presses his hand against Grantaire’s chest.

 

“Not used to being flirted with,” Grantaire echoes, and his face goes soft when Enjolras lets out a small laugh. “By literal Adonises, at least.”

 

“I’m not _Adonis_ —“

 

“Shut up and take a compliment from a decent-looking man totally wooed by you.”

 

There’s a lot Enjolras could say back to that, ranging from _make me_ to _please date me forever_ , but what tumbles out of his mouth instead is enough to make him blush from head to toe. “You’re more than decent, you know, you’re actually the hottest person on the earth probably—“

 

He cuts off rapidly, eyes going wide. Grantaire looks shell-shocked but pleased, and Enjolras is so embarrassed he could melt into the floor right here and now and literally never be a person again.

 

“Oh,” says Grantaire, sounding delighted and confused and about a thousand emotions in between. Enjolras wants to _die_.

 

“I didn’t mean—“ he starts, but that’s wrong, so he goes, “I mean, I _did_ mean, but I meant that. I mean, you’re just—look at you for god’s sake, and I’m—well, we already know, I’m a mess at this, but you’re you, and I’m me, and.”

 

He flails around a bit, which is an impressive feat since he’s still holding Grantaire’s hand in one of his own and gripping R’s shoulder in the other. He’s halfway positive he is dead, because _who the hell rambles this much, and why won’t his mouth just stop talking oh god_ —

 

“You’re the most intriguing person I’ve ever met,” Grantaire announces loudly. He grins, as it successfully makes Enjolras’s mouth clamp shut. “And I mean that honestly.”

 

Somehow Grantaire has twirled and danced them back to the spot where he first found Enjolras. His face turns regretful. Enjolras positively hates it.

 

“And now, I’m afraid, I have to leave you,” he says. His hand drops from Enjolras’s waist. Enjolras is almost desperate enough to tighten his grip on R’s hand just so he _can’t_ go anywhere. Almost. “It looks like Combeferre is positively beaming with jealousy, so mission accomplished there, I’d say.”

 

Enjolras glances over to where Courfeyrac and Combeferre are still standing; Courf looks absolutely delighted, and Ferre looks—pensive, but intrigued. Enjolras has to agree that to anyone who doesn’t know Ferre, it would look like he was upset. He smiles back at them wickedly.

 

“It was nice meeting you,” says R, effectively drawing back his attention once more. Their faces are only inches apart. His voice is soft and warm, and Enjolras never wants to hear goodbye words but they come nonetheless. Grantaire takes a step too close into Enjolras’s space, and once again his hand moves to brush deliberately along Enjolras’s. “Suppose I’ll see you later.”

 

And then he’s gone.

 

Enjolras blinks, shell-shocked.

 

Grantaire is moving with alarming speed, _away_ from Enjolras, and Enjolras stands there like an _idiot_. He flails a bit, and says to a waiter walking by, “How the fuck did I not just get kissed?!”

 

The waiter startles at his harsh tone but he’s taking off after Grantaire without much more thought. R’s so much taller, his strides have got to be twice as long as Enjolras’s, so he’s practically _sprinting_ but then he catches him, catches his hand as it swings back and he pulls Grantaire back to him. Out of breath and nervous and desperate, he says, “You don’t just get to woo me and dance away with my heart and be perfectly charming and _hot_ and perfect and then leave, what the fuck—“

 

And Grantaire is laughing, laughing and beaming as he twines his fingers through Enjolras’s and places his free hand on Enjolras’s neck. “Stop talking, and can I kiss you?” he says. Enjolras doesn’t give him a chance to answer.

 

It’s messy and lovely and his fingers tug on Enjolras’s curls, and their hands cling to one another, and his lips are so soft and pliant against Enjolras’s. It’s perfect, as first kisses go, and he kisses without abandon and prays that it never ends.

 

Grantaire laughs, though, which effectively ends it, and they pull away with grins and lingering kisses pressed against their mouths. Enjolras swears he could fly.

 

“I’m sure we made Combeferre extremely jealous,” R whispers. There’s something hiding in the edge of his voice, something bitter and self-deprecating and it’s _wrong_ so Enjolras kisses it away.

 

“Stupid boy,” he says, when he pulls back. “It was never about the ex. It was always about you.”

 

Grantaire laughs. It’s the most beautiful sound Enjolras has ever heard, probably, all full of joy and sincerity and warmth. “Not used to flirting, my ass,” he growls, and he kisses Enjolras again and again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**seven months later**

 

 

 

“Groom or groom?”

 

Warm arms wrap around Enjolras’s waist. Grantaire rests his chin on Enjolras’s shoulder, reading the invitation as he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek.

 

“Some guy I knew from college,” Enjolras says offhand. He frowns a bit at the picture. “Why do I keep getting so many wedding invitations in the mail, anyway?”

 

“Everyone wants to meet your shiny new boyfriend?” Grantaire supplies. Enjolras rolls his eyes and turns so that he can wrap his own arms around Grantaire’s neck.

 

“Seven months hardly makes you new and shiny,” Enjolras argues. “By now I’ve broken you in, at least, trained you and everything.”

 

“You haven’t _trained_ me—“

 

Enjolras frowns, and instantly Grantaire presses his lips against it until Enjolras starts to smile again.

 

“I’d say I have you pretty well trained.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.”

 

Enjolras laughs and laughs, and kisses Grantaire’s jawline before pulling away. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing, taking you to all those weddings. Showing you off again, dancing with you. I do need someone to stave off all those men who will try to approach me, since I’m such an _Adonis_ —“

 

“You say it like I regret calling you that but I don’t, you were hot and you’re still hot now, I’m the luckiest man alive,” Grantaire interrupts. “But if you need a knight in shining armor to protect you from unwanted attention, I’ll be the first in line.”

 

“My hero,” says Enjolras dryly.

 

“You love it.”

 

Enjolras smiles to himself. He loves a lot more than that, more than Grantaire realizes. Grantaire often jokes he’s the luckiest man alive but Enjolras will argue until he’s six feet under that no one will ever be as lucky as he is.

 

He’s supposed to be cooking, but he steps away from the cutting board to press another kiss on Grantaire, this time at his temple, and deliberately says, “We need to write a thank you card to Marius and Cosette.”

 

Grantaire smiles, lazy and happy.

 

“Sure thing, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://feuillyys.tumblr.com) crying abt les mis or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tannscotts) posting about various things.
> 
>  
> 
> comment, kudos, bookmark below!


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